His Love, the Phoenix
by queenofowls
Summary: She thought he died to protect Dimitri. He thought she died at the battle for Garreg Mach five years before. As they are about to discover at the Great Bridge of Myrddin, they are both wrong. [Dedue/f!Byleth]
1. Phoenix Falling

Dedue runs towards the Great Bridge of Myrddin until he feels as though he can run no more. His body is heavy, weighed down by not only by armor, but also the fear that he will not make it in time in spite of the preparations he has taken. Four long years, his liege left unprotected. And now they come to an end.

As he approaches the stone structure, Dedue can see the prince's blond hair from the center of courtyard. He takes a deep breath and bellows out his title.

"Your Highness!" Dimitri turns at the sound of his voice. At once, Dedue notes the dark and wild rage on Dimitri's face. For a moment, he fears that his liege is too far gone, that he won't recognize him at all... but then, there's the blinding light of recognition in his eyes. Dedue nods grimly as he stops in his tracks, sliding his axe from the sheath on his back. "Apologies for the late arrival." Dimitri's voice is weak with surprise.

"Dedue? You're still ali..." He knows his liege is still speaking but he doesn't even hear the rest of his sentence. Instead, what distracts him is a gasp, sharp and wispy. Something tells him to look towards the sound, and when he does...

_"Dedue."_

A woman he has laid to rest breathes his name.

Byleth's death is something Dedue has contemplated many times since the final battle at the monastery. He has never been one for reminiscing. The death of his parents and sisters has told him that such things only bring anguish and yet...  
_  
_For the longest time, Dedue wondered if he made the correct decision, leaving the battlefield without finding her body. If he had seen her corpse then he could at least rest-but as it was... there has always been a part of him that felt that he could pretend she is simply 'away' and not forever gone from beneath the sun. She had done it once before, the fateful day that Captain Jeralt was slain-cut her way through the sky and fallen like a transformed star into his eyes. Her power was blinding then, like that of a phoenix.

Yes... he wanted to believe that she lived, and yet... he still remembers the night after he and his Highness were forced to abandon the monastery, to escape the empire and fight another way. He can still see it in his mind's eye...

* * *

_"Are you thinking of her again, Dedue?" Dedue starts at the sound of Dimitri's cold voice. As his eyes move upwards past the fire between them to meet the prince's, he tries to figure who his Highness could possibly be speaking of, the confusion in his face giving him away._

_"Edelgard?" His face is grim. "She has taken much from us-"_

_**"NO!"** The rage in the prince's voice is clear as it echoes in the clearing. Dedue rests his hand on his axe, looking around the two of them in alarm. They are on the run, and to attract attention from soldiers in the conditions they're in..._

_A moment of uncertain silence fills the air, but there is no sound to tell them they've been given away._

_Dimitri echoes himself, this time speaking with deadly calm. "_No_, Dedue. I am not speaking of... that _witch_. In my presence, you must never say her name again." Dedue nods. His liege has rarely given a command, regardless of how willing he is to obey them and he too is content with never hearing of the prince's step-sister again. But if not Edelgard, then who...? Dimitri clarifies stiffly. "I am speaking of the professor. Byleth."_

_Dedue doesn't reply for a moment, suddenly strangely self-conscious at the sound of her name. To talk about matters of the heart with his liege... He forces himself to speak, looking away reluctantly._

_"...Yes." Perhaps, normally, Dedue would insist that such things are not worthy of Dimitri's attention... but he decides that he doesn't have the energy to maintain distance._

_It has finally happened. He has lost everything before-but to lose the one treasure he has reached for after the tragedy... He tries to conjure the memory of the scented oil she wore, but instead, he can only smell blood. Even its taste is gone from his mouth, bitterness all that is left behind._

_"Did you love her?" A pointed question and more silence. In truth, Dimitri can guess as much but... he wants to hear him say it. As desperate as he is-as he has always been-for revenge, his fingers are numb with rage in a way that startles him. Knowing what his only friend in this world values will hurt, he is aware... but even pain is better than the threatening feeling of nothing._

_Dedue's voice is low._

_"Yes."_

_Instead of replying, Dimitri places the flask in his hand to the side and reaches forward to toss a piece of wood onto the fire. "That's the way of this world, isn't it, old friend. It takes everything from us." Looking up from the flames, he eyes Dedue with a smile that doesn't reach his hard eyes. His tone darkens. "What choice do we have to bury ourselves in the filth and ask back the price of our loved ones in blood?"_

_Dedue doesn't meet his gaze, instead staring deeply into the fire. His reply is a quiet murmur. He is certain that the prince will not want to hear the thoughts on his mind, but he says them anyway._

_"That's not how the professor views... would have viewed it."_

_"You don't know that." Dimitri more growls the words than says them, but Dedue is certain that he does know. She has told him so many times to value his own life that he cannot imagine her now telling him to throw it away in search for lost blood._

_Even if that lost blood is hers._

_He chooses to change the subject instead of debating with Dimitri. Besides, the idea that Dimitri could know the professor better than he did when he is the one who spent so much time dwelling on her mystery... is laughable. He focuses instead of his friend's earlier pointed question. "How did you know?"_

_Dimitri laughs warmly, sending a chill through Dedue. His liege has bounced through emotions before but... this is something new. Something worrying. He tries to push away his doubts. The prince still needs to be protected: perhaps that includes his mental state as well. He is hardly qualified but... at the very least, he can watch over him as the professor would have. He wishes she were here now, to lend them her wisdom. To give them a plan._

_"How, you ask? When I said her name, you touched your ring finger unconsciously." Ah... Dedue looks down and indeed, his left hand is cradled in his right. Dimitri shakes his head, then takes a long draft from the flask in his lap. "Did you ever... ask her?"_

_Dedu shakes his head. _She asked me._ But he doesn't vocalize it. Some things are best left unsaid, true, but in this moment, he isn't sure that he is strong enough to._

_"The professor and I came to... to an understanding."_

_Dimitri's brows lift as he echoes the man of Duscur._

_"An... understanding?" Something about his tone makes Dedue look up. Dimitri's face is absolutely blood red, but the moment they make eye contact, he looks away, taking another drink. "Dedue, as long as we've known each other, you still find ways to surprise me."_

_Dedue realizes where Dimitri's thoughts lie. "Your Highness, I... think you're misunderstanding something."_

_"Am I? So you and the professor never..." Dimitri falls silent, strangely too embarrassed to ask such a personal question. But, emboldened by the liquid fire in his flask, he tries again. "You don't seem like a coward, Dedue. Am I to believe you never as much as kissed her?" Dedue hesitates too long. "I see. Then I don't think I've misunderstood."_

_"It was only once," He finally admits, a small smile breaking through. It fades just as quickly as it appears. "It... wasn't enough." It's the first time he's ever said those words aloud, but their truth fills him with longing. He didn't even tell her that he loved her. And now..._

_"All you need is once, Dedue." He leans forward. "What was it like?"_

_"Well..." Dedue looks at Dimitri, coughing slightly. "Well." He remembers the way he held her body in his hands. The way she offered him the ring, with such cool, temperate eyes. That expression she made when he leaned away after their first kiss. The throaty sounds he'd never heard a woman make, all because of the way he touched her. Sounds he would never hear again. A body he would never hold in his arms again. A ring he would never get to wear, not because he was a corpse and she had moved on to another love... But because it was she who was the corpse._

_Every thought is a twist of the knife._

_Dedue covers his face with a single hand, then drags it downward to run over his features. "It doesn't matter anymore," he finally says. Dimitri sobers up._

_"No... I guess it doesn't." Looking back into the fire, his voice is dark. "We will avenge them, Dedue. We will avenge them all."_

_Dedue remembers how he'd nodded along with his liege, but he remembers even better the thought he began to carry in his heart from that moment forward._

_Byleth was wrong twice over._

_You could die more than once, inside and out-and it is better to be a shield than a man because a shield could not mourn._

* * *

When it came to take Dimitri's place and die in his Highness' stead, he'd felt glad that he'd hardened his heart. He'd known that it was not what the professor would've wanted but...

His whole life had always been leading to that exact moment.

In another world where he was not merely a tool of war, he could've been something more at the professor's side but... that was not the world he lived in. Without her, he could think of no higher purpose than the one fate has decided. He walked towards his death with that in mind, knowing his bones too would rest...

But then...

Then, the men of Duscur saved him.

Then, he was given yet another chance at life, a chance that made him question everything.

Dedue wondered about her death again. _Is this what it is to be an instrument of fate?_

He thought of her often as his body stitched itself back together in a refugee camp of his people. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend, in fact, that his home still existed, even if this was just a ghost of what used to be. The people of Duscur were like an odyssey of phoenixes-they were capable of recovery, of returning... and while the professor isn't of Duscur herself, if there was anyone who would be miraculously saved, he'd always believed it to be her.

So why... why was he living while she and any future he could call theirs lay as dust in the ruins of a monastery?

In those early, feverish days where death lurked in the corner of his room, the ghost of Byleth visited his dreams, sometimes leaving kisses, and other times curses, memories of her churned up from his desire to hold her one last impossible time.

Time and again, the question she'd once asked him appeared in his dreams.

_And what will you do when he needs you again?_'

The answer was clear: Dedue would work to become whole again just so that he could protect Dimitri. He would no longer die for Dimitri. He would live, to protect him again and again as the professor would've wanted. He worked, four long years he worked to regain his strength, to be worthy of his beloved's legacy.

And now she is here. Not as a ghost, not as a memory... but in the flesh.

As Dedue looks across the bridge at his enemies, he has two thoughts.

First, he will live through this battle, and second, if she will have him, that he will taste her when it ends.


	2. Phoenix Rising

He doesn't even remember what passes. All he knows is what his body remembers-the familiar sound of her strict voice shouting commands, the clash of metal and smell of blood, and how every time he hears her, the swings of his axe feel strong enough to cut through metal and flesh, fueled by the desperation to fulfill his self-made promise to hold her.

And now... in the broken shell of the monastery, he stands outside of her room, unable to knock on the door.

He is unsure of what to say to her. The war is not over just yet. He should wait. He should stop. He should-

_Doom, doom._

His fist is against the door before he can stop himself.

_'Professor.'_ No. _She is not the professor any longer._ He tastes her name on his tongue and carefully mouthes the syllables. Dedue takes a deep breath.

"Byleth." The moment he says it aloud, he hears glass break on the other side. A flare of fear jolts him and he pushes open the door, on alert.

"No, don't!" But he's already seen her. She's in a state of undress, attempting to bandage herself as she sits on her bed with a small pile of bandages and jars of salve. Or... one jar of salve, the other broken on the floor. He shuts the door hastily, excusing himself-but not on the other side of it.

He stares at Byleth in the enclosed space of her quarters, then breaks her gaze to kneel. Cleaning the glass from the ground, he delays the inevitable moment he has been waiting for. Hoping for, even if he has been too afraid to admit as much to himself.

All these years... all these years he hasn't been able to let her go. It makes him beyond pleased to know that fate would not loosen its hold on her either.

When the floor is clear of danger, Dedue finds his voice.

"May I help you?" He gestures vaguely towards the bandages. Byleth nods silently. The action almost makes him smile. She has always been spare with her words. "I'll start from the back, then." He sits on the edge of the bed as she turns her bare back to him, passing the bandage under her arm. Working together to wrap her torso, his rough hands are warm and gentle as he tries not to wrap the cloth too tightly.

"You didn't get this healed."

"I will. There's not enough supplies to waste a vulnerary off the battlefield, and Mercy's not back from scouting with Felix." He nods in response, pinning the bandage so that it will not prick her. The bandages cover her breasts securely-but even so... she doesn't turn towards him. Instead, they sit in silence.

He wants to say something, anything but... he can only stare at her bandaged back longingly.

Dedue forces himself to stand, his stomach sinking. Who is he to assume that she has loved him in this time? He grimaces. Perhaps he is the only one to cling to his love. Perhaps he is the only one who still-

"Five years, Dedue." Byleth's head is tilted downwards, her hair concealing her face as she stares down at her lap. "They told me five years passed." She glances over her shoulder, but quickly changes her mind, not quite ready to face him. "It feels like yesterday that we met in the greenhouse and now... you look so different." Dedue nods slowly, even though she is unable to see it. Her voice is guarded. "...Tell me, Dedue. Has your heart changed as... as you have?"

Dedue's breath pauses in his chest.

She's asking if he still has feelings for her? When as he lay dying, her smile was the one thing that chained him to the corporeal world? When wrapping her bandages alone had him battling the desire to press his lips against the soft skin of her back and shoulders? When the only thing stopping him from reaching around her back and filling his cupped hands with her soft breasts is the fear of hurting her?

Dedue almost doesn't know what to say aside from the obvious, so he does.

"I love you."

It occurs to him that he is five years overdue. If he could, he would ask her for the ring if she still has it. If he didn't have this accursed war to worry about, he would marry her now in the rubble of the cathedral. _Patience._ Byleth turns around then to eye him steadily. There is no emotion on her face, but he knows that it doesn't mean she feels nothing. He knows that it means anything but. Her eyes are so large, so bright. He can't look away.

"After all this time?"

He echoes her. "After all this time."

"Oh, Dedue." Her voice sounds so full, so relieved. Byleth leans forward as Dedue opens his arms, holding her as tightly as he can without aggravating her wounds. He murmurs softly into her hair.

"That day, five years ago... I thought you were killed. I thought I would never hold you again." Dedue strokes her head as he cradles her in his arms. "I won't make the mistake again." Byleth looks up at him questioningly, putting her face at the perfect angle for him to show her just what he means. Dedue touches the underside of her chin and draws her forward to bring her lips to his.

The first kiss is slow. He takes his time savoring the fullness of her soft, pliant mouth. Her skin is as cool as he remembers, her hands closed around his forearms. They wander upwards, eventually coming to rest against his chest. She pushes against him lightly to get his attention.

"Dedue?" He looks down at her. Her cheeks are flushed the most beautiful color, just like he remembered. He kisses her cheeks, too, then says her name as an answer.

"Byleth." She pauses for a long moment. It's so unusual to hear him call her anything aside from 'professor'. She can't help but feel pleasure at ridding herself of the title that chained her to duty, preventing her from crossing the barrier of teacher to student. He is older than her now, true, but age and power are such very different beasts, and she had always to tread carefully.

Not any more.

"Let me look at you." An unusual request considering he is the one who has not seen her in five years... but he nods. Reaching her hands upwards, Byleth's hands immediately reach for the scars on his face. She traces each one gently, then accompanies the touch with a kiss and look that asks the same question. _How?_

"Bandits," he tells her as her lips light on his temple. "A night ambush when some villagers outed his Highness to some enemy soldiers." She touches one on his lips. "Pirates." Her mouth brushes against one on his chin. "An assassin." Her breath sucks in on that word so Dedue hastens to explain. "We pretended to be a mercenaries in the empire for information. We were... in over our heads. But," he tries to smile as she stares at him critically, "we did not die." The word 'die' makes her expression crumple. Leaning forward to press a pained kiss to his mouth, Byleth stares into Dedue's eyes.

"I feel so greedy, Dedue. Every scar... I want to know them well. I want them all to be mine." In spite of the quiet dissatisfaction in her voice, to his surprise, Byleth looks almost... shy. It's an expression that strikes him directly in the stomach and twists his body into knots. It makes him want to put his hand against her shoulder and gently push until she lies flat on the bedding, one of his knees between hers. He has half a mind to do it.

...Maybe more than half a mind.

If he is careful enough, maybe they wouldn't aggravate her wounds. Is he too big for her bed? He pauses. Most importantly...

Would the sound of their... activities travel?

_Hm..._

He wonders if he should ask her directly, but as he opens his mouth to form the question, he stops.

_What is he thinking?_ They are still at war and as long as it lasts, he is, once more, vowed to protect Dimitri's life... He cannot do as he pleases. It is so frustrating that it's almost laughable. Five years and they are back where they began-except now he is living for Dimitri rather than ever prepared to die for him. He sighs inwardly. An instrument of fate once more... He isn't so sure why fate directs him so but he wishes that it would be more attentive to his... needs.

The serious tone of Byleth's voice brings him back to the waking world.

"Where does that leave us, Dedue?" He cups her cheek with a full hand. Two people in love during a war. What a hopeless pair they are.

"Waiting, of course." Byleth nods slowly in agreement, but her face looks appropriately distressed. Dedue chuckles. It's a sound he hasn't heard from himself since... since his sisters and mother disappeared from this world. The sound attracts her attention as she stares at him flatly. If not for the lack of expression on her face, he'd think she is starstruck. He wonders if he's getting better at reading her but... Byleth being starstruck is hard to imagine. He tilts his head. "What is it?"

"Your laugh, Dedue. It's beautiful." The sight of Byleth's cheeks flushing while her expression stays the same almost makes him laugh again. He leans down and kisses her hungrily. As her mouth falls open, he fulfills his second self-promise to reclaim her taste in his memory.

With five years to make up, he isn't sure he'll ever get his fill of her lips.

With their whole lives after the war waiting for them, he isn't sure he has to.


End file.
